


Meet the Parents

by ceresilupin



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-29
Updated: 2011-07-29
Packaged: 2017-10-21 22:00:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/230330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceresilupin/pseuds/ceresilupin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spock and Uhura have a date with Uhura's parents. Mild drama ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Meet the Parents

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this thing forever ago and just found it the other day. It was supposed to be longer, but I think the ending it has now works pretty well. . . .

Red was her favorite color, once, until she began attending Starfleet Academy nearly six years ago. Now she is thoroughly sick of it. She removes the red earrings and begins rifling through the jewelry box for another pair, a labor-intensive practice: this whole thing would go a lot faster if she just kept the damn box organized.

In the mirror, she can catch glimpses of Spock’s pacing. He would probably call it something else – Vulcans probably have a rule against pacing – but it’s definitely a short, quick stroll from one side of the room to the other. His shoulders are bowed, hands clasped behind his back, in a display of thought.

He catches her eye in the mirror and his head lifts. “I anticipate an 89% likelihood that tonight will not go well,” he announces.

Uhura swallows a tiny choke. “That bad, huh?” she asks.

“There are too many variables in play for a true behavioral statistics matrix to be calculated,” he says placidly. Only his eyes, flickering minutely with internal stresses, betray him. “This number was arrived at through reviews of past message transmissions and –“ he eyes her warily, “careful study of human media on the subject.”

“Spock, I’ve told you,” she unearths a pair of gold earrings only to find them bent, “there’s a whole genre of ‘meet the parents’ movies out there, and every single one of them is completely inaccurate.” She scowls at the bent earring. Her left arm, in a sling after their recent mission, is singularly useless.

“I found them an interesting study of human culture and behavior.”

She smiles reassuringly at his reflection. “Don’t let it worry you,” she promises, trying to bend the earring back into shape with the fingers of her right hand. “Humans don’t really act like that in real life.”

He dips his chin slightly. “Indeed, they do not,” he says. “If they did, I would find them much more comprehensible.” He observes her struggles with the earring and steps forward. “Would you like assistance?”

“No, I can get it.”

Most annoyingly, he ignores her and comes to loom over her shoulder. “It appears slightly bent.”

“I can get it,” Uhura says, her voice developing an edge. She looks around for something heavy and flat.

He catches her hand before she can turn away – she hisses a sigh between her teeth – and takes the earring from her, laying it against the dressing table. It only takes a moment of gentle pressure to straighten the bent hoop.

“Thanks,” she mutters, and tries them on. _Nope,_ she decides after a critical moment, and drops them back in the box.

“You know,” Spock says, watching her, “this process would be much more efficient if a modicum of organization were applied.”

Uhura glares. Meekly, he decides to resume his pacing on the other side of the room.

“However,” he adds, breaking the silence two pairs of earrings later, “I calculate a slight probability that another discharge storm will disrupt the evening and require the restaurant to be closed.”

Unwillingly intrigued, Uhura looks up. “How slight?”

“Less than five percent.”

She sways back and forth idly, doing a small calculation of her own. “The Governor said the storms are increasing in frequency.”

“I kept his words in mind as I was making prediction, or it would have been even lower than it already is.”

Uhura’s mouth twisted ruefully. “Humans have hoped for more with less favorable odds,” she says.

“Indeed.” Spock pauses beside the window, watching her. “So you also entertain a slight hope that the evening will be canceled.”

“Of course not, I was only kidding.” Uhura smiles at him again, but his complete lack of reaction has an underlying edge of skepticism. “Spock, it’s just dinner with my parents at a fancy restaurant. There’s no need for either of us to be nervous.”

Her voice is quite firm. She decides she doesn’t like these earrings, either, and begins fishing for another pair, and forces herself to stop swaying and fidgeting. Spock doesn’t respond. Unfairly, her mouth opens again and more words keep spilling out.

“They’ve traveled a long way to meet us,” she reminds him. “And Mama pulled a lot of strings to get us this table on such short notice, and Dad even bought a new suit. He hasn’t done that in years.” She locates another possible-looking earring, but it’s tangled up in a mass of its sisters. She begins working it free. “Did I tell you about the time Mama and I ate here when I was twelve?”

Spock inclines his head slightly, a confirmation. Her mother’s planet-spanning firm had always taken her away on business, thrilling and glamorous adventures, while her father’s tried and true tenure at the University of Nairobi had kept him rooted like an old tree. Uhura had spent most of her childhood with him after her parents’ split, except for her summers, when her mother would whisk her away and show her the galaxy. The trips had always been terribly exciting at first, followed by a middle period of boredom, and then finally homesickness and exhaustion; still, though, it had been a good preparation for her eventual career.

It was highly suspect, of course, that her parents just happened to be visiting Tenyar just as the _Enterprise_ was dispatched to investigate a nearby system. Kerrado City was the only human colony within light-years, and thus the subject of a great deal of corporate interest and investment. None of those corporations, as she recalled, were the one her mother worked for. And her father hadn’t accompanied her mother on her trips since before Uhura had been born.

Still, it would be nice to see them. And the Ssuiet was supposed to be one of the finest restaurants in the Federation, and really, what was she so worried about? She hadn’t seen her parents in a year. They would be thrilled to catch up, and even if they found Spock’s manner off-putting at first, well, there would be plenty of distractions available. Surely they wouldn’t make a fuss, knowing this might their last meeting for another year, or more. Surely the fact that she loved him would be enough for them, at least in public.

Uhura exhales slowly. Nope, she doesn’t like these earrings, either. She flings them back into the box.

Spock hasn’t moved an inch, is in fact barely breathing. Uhura swallows and tentatively offers, “They’re going to love you, you know.”

It might be the planet’s perennial lightning storms that make his eyes flash like that, or it might just be irony. “That is highly unlikely,” he says, voice slightly strained. “This will be the first time I have met them, as your partner, superior officer, and former instructor. Furthermore, you are currently injured, after a mission in which I accompanied you.” He pauses, and then adds in a different voice, “If they agree to exchange messages or arrange a second meeting, I will be gratified. And surprised.”

“Spock,” Uhura repeats. “They’re going to love you.”

“It is of course my ambition to earn their approval in every way, and to be treated as a prospective member of your family unit.”

“Spock.”

“In layman’s terms,” he says, swallowing, “I do want them to like me. I just do not think it is logical for them to do so at this juncture—“ he relaxes visibly at the word ‘logical’, “and so it is only practical to anticipate their reactions and plan accordingly.”

Uhura sighs. Of course he wanted them to like him. He wanted everyone to like him; that was his great secret, the dark mystery he kept hidden behind his impassivity and clipped speech. He wanted to be liked. It was his human need for affection at work, she supposed, the human need that had been neglected in his childhood and was still poorly understood, by him and almost everybody else. The human need he couldn’t bring himself to acknowledge, let alone voice.

She decides to put her earrings aside for a moment, and turns her attention to her shoes. The space and weight requirements aboard the _Enterprise_ had required some compromises here, or it would have, if Spock hadn’t generously volunteered his own portion for the cause.

“So what reactions are you anticipating?” Uhura asks. They might as well plan accordingly together, after all.

Spock is eyeing her box of earrings with a strange expression. He seems to find her question startling, and even as he prepares to answers, he crosses the room and begins sorting through the box. Organizing it, she realizes. Of course.

“My research,” he begins, ignoring Uhura’s rolled eyes, “indicates that for a father, the prospect of one’s only daughter becoming involved in a romantic relationship is one of great challenge and hardship.”

She rolls her eyes again at this, even harder. “Which movie convinced you of that? And was it filmed before the 22nd century?”

He twitched an eyebrow. “The reasoning behind this behavior is a mystery,” he said. Uhura snorted and muttered, _oh, not really,_ but he continued. “It appears to be rooted in several archaic traditions and roles that regard women and children as symbols of potential wealth, and thus regards their loss as defrayal.”

Uhura temporarily abandons her perusal of the shoes. “Are you suggesting my father thinks of me as some kind of _investment?_ ”

“No,” he says, apparently undisturbed by her tone. “It was merely an observation of the social and cultural forces at work.”

“Hmph.” Uhura eyes him a moment longer and then turns back to their closet. “Okay, what else?”

“I also suspect that there is a strong feeling of nostalgia at work.” Spock, his attention split between her and the box of earrings, seems to be relaxing at last. Maybe it was helping him to talk it through – she’d have to remember that the next time he was being taciturn. “The perusal of a mate and a family of one’s one is a signifier of adulthood to nearly every species, and inevitably provokes strong feelings of uncertainty and anxiety in parents and offspring alike.”

Uhura tries on a pair of black heels. “I’ve been a big girl for a while now, Spock,” she says gently. “And my dad knows that.”

“Knowing a thing and witnessing and understanding it are often two very different matters.”

She set the shoes aside as a definite possibility and moves onto the next pair. “Okay, what else?”

Spock now has three little piles of earrings. He unearths a second box, one she’d forgotten about, and begins sorting through it, too. “For much of your life, your safety and happiness were primarily your father’s concern. Although those responsibilities have now shifted to you, he will be seeking confirmation that your potential mate exhibits due diligence in these areas, as well as the stability necessary to avoid disrupting your own efforts in this area.”

Uhura tries and discards a pair of silvery heels, amused that Spock has pinpointed her father as her primary caregiver. Maybe she was a bit hard on him for his ‘research’ – he doesn’t seem to have let it cloud his thinking, at least. “What about my mother?” she asks.

“My research contained many portrayals of mothers as a family’s central peacekeeper and source of affection.” He pauses, his eyes distant with some far-off memory. “However, your descriptions of your mother lead me to believe she will not be interested in a false peace, and that any discomfort or injured feeling on my part will be the least of her concerns.” He returns his attention to the earrings. “In fact, I believe your mother in the least likely to accept or welcome me.”

Thoughtfully, carefully, Uhura sets another pair of black shoes next to the heels and tries on a third pair. “What makes you say that?” she finally asks.

Her question isn’t as precise as it could be, often a mistake in conversations with Spock, but he takes her meaning anyway. “You are a central source of your mother’s pride,” Spock finally says, his voice a shade softer than before. “Judging from your comments and what little I’ve personally observed, your mother, like you, holds herself and those around her to exacting standards. This is not a disparagement on my part. It is a quality of yours for which I admit affection and fondness, and I hope to meet all of your mother’s expectations, not lower them.”

Uhura sets her latest pair of shoes aside and watches him, leaning slightly forward. He is turned halfway away from her and is not meeting her eyes at all.

“Your mother will expect that I demonstrate conscientiousness for your safety.” He pauses, and Uhura glances down at her healing arm. “She will be watchful for any hint of harm that I may have caused, physically or psychologically, whether accidentally or as a result of . . . my own selfish needs.”

The ghosts of their infrequent arguments, agonizing discussions where they bargain and debate their expectations and requirements of each other, seem to rise up between them. The past year has been hard. There have been times where Uhura has despaired of ever making this work, of ever learning to navigate the rocky paths of Spock’s mind and childhood, his desperate need for love, and his desperate shame. And he’s been equally frustrated by her, she knows.

“Most of all,” Spock says, and now he’s not even pretending to tinker with the earrings, “your mother will want to see . . . a measure of my affection for you. Proof that I –“ He stops, uncharacteristically hesitant. “That I,” he tries again, and then stops again.

Uhura finds herself on her feet, her good hand coming up to rest between his shoulder blades. She meets his eyes in the mirror; his brow is faintly furrowed, the tension in his eyes profound.

“Spock,” she says softly. “It’s okay. It’s really okay.”

By his standards, his answering frown is quite severe. “It is not okay.”

Her smile, though genuine, is a little watery. “It really is.”

He turns, trapping her free hand and holding it not to his chest, as a human man might, but to his stomach. She can feel his Vulcan heart pounding. “I have only ever wanted to see you happy, Nyota,” he says.

“That’s all you have to say to them, Spock,” she says. “Everything else will work itself out. That’s all you have to say.”

He appears to think that over. “If you believe this,” he finally ventures, “then what is the source of your anxiety?” He gestures to their room, which is beginning to look like a tornado passed through.

Uhura swallows a laugh and rises on her toes to kiss him. He leans, quite automatically, into the light kiss, and then rests his fingers lightly against her jaw, holding her in place.

“Just nerves,” she says. “Just good old illogical human nerves.”

Something in his eyes shifts. “I see,” he murmurs, plainly – to her eyes, at least – amused.

They release one another a moment later. Uhura slides on a pair of black heels, Spock shrugs on his thick, expertly crafted Vulcan coat, and holds out her own red coat for her. She buttons it up over her little black dress and hesitates in front of the mirror.

Spock’s efforts with the earrings, interrupted, are still incomplete, but one pair has been set out from the rest, the red pair she’d tried on first. She glances at him and he nods.

She slips them in, checking over her appearance one last time. Her dress, though expensive, is a trifle plain, purchased in anticipation of diplomatic functions and Starfleet parties, not dinner with her parents. Her red coat, buttoned snuggly, resembles her uniform more than a little, and casts a glow over her skin, bright red and warm brown in soft contrast.

“Let’s head out,” she says to Spock, and unusually, he offers her his hand. Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Uhura accepts it instantly.

~

“Another aspect of my research,” Spock says as they navigate the _Enterprise’s_ corridors on their way to the shuttle bay, “consisted of the long delays human males are expected to entertain for their females before leaving the house. It was reassuring to find that they were not a product of my fevered imagination.”

His voice is bone dry. Uhura snorts at the idea of Spock having a fevered anything. “I haven’t made us late yet,” she points out lightly.

Spock twitches an eyebrow, probably because he knows full well it’s because he gets them up and moving in enough time to incorporate her delays. When he tells her there is a seventy-five percent likelihood they’ll be late if she doesn’t start dressing now, she knows he’s telling the truth.

They find Captain Kirk waiting for them in the shuttle bay, leaning casually up against the wall as if he just happened to wander by, his mere presence terrorizing the ensigns. A few scurry past nervously.

“Well, aren’t you pretty, all dolled up,” he says, smirking. “And Uhura, you don’t look bad either.”

Spock sighs and Uhura laughs. “What are you doing here?” she asks, like she doesn’t already know.

He shrugs, cramming his hands in his pockets. “Just happened to be in the area,” he says, faux casual. His sharp eyes pass over Spock’s face. The subliminal markers of tension are still there, but the anxiety that’s been making him tense for the past day has visibly decreased.

Kirk flicks her a quick, cool glance, and palms the airlock open for them. “Have fun, kids,” he says. “Be back by night cycle.” They pass him, Uhura shaking her head and grinning in pure exasperated affection. Behind Spock’s back, he nods to her once, in watchful approval.

“Bring me a doggie bag!” he calls, before the airlock slides shut.


End file.
